The Only Piece Left
by ChristopherAndMe
Summary: The girl on fire has burnt out. Left mourning in the wake of Katniss's suicide, Peeta and Gale only have each other to hold on to. Peeta/Gale.
1. Chapter 1

The emotional trauma was too much. Katniss killed herself. She stuck the trigger to her head and pulled it. I thought she was going to be okay. The war was over and we won, but I guess one too many people got killed that war. Prim's dead and so is her dad and now Katniss is. Mrs. Everdeen has no one left. I never suspected but Katniss wasn't as strong and I thought she was.

_I can't do it anymore. No more. I just can't. The nightmares, it's the nightmares. I wake up and I think they're over, but all I wake up to is a different one that I __**can't**__ wake up from. This is my escape. The girl on fire has burnt out._

"That's all she wrote?" asked Peeta as his body quivered. His elbows were on the table bracing his head with his hands.

"Yes", choked Haymitch. He folded the little crumpled note and carelessly tossed it onto the table as he leaned back onto the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

Peeta's fingers locked together in a tight fist. His brows pushed together and his skin folded between them. The tears rolled down his dirty cheeks leaving a streak of his clean pale skin. His back started shaking and he placed his head down onto the table between his arms. I got up and walked over to him and as gentle as I could I placed my arm around him to steady the sobs escaping his mouth.

T he little room where all of Katniss's closest friends and family were became an emotional oven as everyone took in her last words from Haymitch . Her mother is in corner slouching in her chair with her hands in her lap. Her face is blank and she has no tears as her head gazed into the palms of her hands. Haymitch walks over to me. "Come on Gale," he says, "we got to get them out of here." I nod in agreement.

"Come on Peeta," I say softly. He doesn't respond. His sobs have stopped but he is still lying face down on the table. I look over at Haymitch who is gently helping Mrs. Everdeen up out of her chair. She only makes it a couple steps before she bends and vomits onto the floor. She starts to convulse as animal like sobs start to flow out from her. Haymitch is still trying to help her up with one of her hands, but she places her free hand into the vomit and sits. The guttural sounds rack her body and are all I can hear. She grips onto Haymitch's hand and rocks back and forth. I turn back to Peeta, "Peeta, we have to go." I place one hand under his arm and the other across his back. He starts to lift his head. "There we go." I say encouraging him to move. He puts his hands on the edge of the table and pushes his chair back.

"Come on," Haymitch says as quaint as he can though he had to raise his voice to overpower Mrs. Everdeen's wailing which have now turned to screaming. She starts to hit his thighs as he tries to help her up. With a heavy sigh, Haymitch lifts her off the ground and holds her like a baby in his arms. They exit through the door and I can hear her screams growing faint as they travel down the hall. By now Peeta has rising completely and I start to lead him to the door. The walk to his room is quiet with my occasional urge to keep him moving. His muscles are tense and rigid under my hands. His gray t shirt sleeves cling tightly around his biceps. When we get to his room I sit him down on his bed. He puts his arms in his lap and stares at the wall with no expression. His sandy blonde hair his snarled and knotted. I place my hand on his hair and try to smooth the wild locks. As I slide my hand across his head he seems to relax a little and closes his eyes. I sit next to him on the bed as I pat and smooth his hair. From the side I can see his square jaw loosen, he swallows, and sighs a bit. After I am content with the state of his hair I stop. "Try to rest," I say and I start to get up, but I'm met with one of Peeta's strong hands around my wrist.

"No," he says quietly through his barley opened lips. I look at him and he is still staring at the wall. He pulls me back and I sit back in my spot.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask. He doesn't respond. "Peeta?"

"You remind of her," he says so soft I can barely hear it.

"What?" I had to make sure I heard him right. Peeta turns his head and looks at me with his ice blue eyes.

"Katniss, "he says. "You remind me of her. Always have. Your skin is like hers; your hair is like hers too." I'm not sure how to react to this comment, but before I have time to answer Peeta is crying. His face contorts as he buries it in his hands. I slide closer to him and put my arm around his shoulder again. A lump starts in my throat and I try to swallow it. I can feel each sob come up from his stomach and get coughed out and every time he gasps between them I can feel his back expand and shake.

The lump becomes too painful and I cough out something between a cough and a whimper. Then I allow myself to cry. I look away from Peeta to the corner of his room and let my lip tremble and the tears roll. I was in District 2 this whole time and I could have helped my best friend and I didn't. I was too busy being mad and her, mad at her for loving someone else. Mad at her for not loving me. And now she's gone and nothing, absolutely nothing can bring her back. I exhale a sharp breath as I wipe my eyes with my free hand. When I look back at Peeta for signs of relief, but he is crying harder than ever. I know for a fact we have both been starving for human contact, for touch, emotion. So I hug him. He doesn't hesitate to hug back. We both cling to the only part of Katniss we have left. I can feel his tears wet my shirt and his quick breaths against my neck as he buries is face into my shoulder. His arms are wrapped around my torso and his hands are griping the fabric of my shirt. My arms are wrapped around his lower back and one of my hands is touching his bare skin. The heat from it soaks into my hand and warms it in a matter of seconds. I pull him closer wanting more. His sobs become less frantic and it soon turns into short, quiet gasps. He pulls away first. "Gale, I need you to stay here tonight, I can't be by myself." His eyes are red and puffy.

"I will," I say. My voice is rough and the tears sting my cheeks. I wipe them away and Peeta does the same to his. Neither of us feels like moving so we just lay down next to each other on his bed. Our shoulders touch, the contact his comforting and nice. Peeta props himself up on one elbow and reaches to shut off the one lamp that lights his room. He wipes his nose a final time, and clicks the lamp off.

"Goodnight," he says to me the darkness.

"Night," I answer feeling the warm spread from my shoulder throughout my body.


	2. Sleeping

Sleep. Sometimes it's the only escape you can have. It is the motionless cycle of the night where you can recover from whatever your day brought you. But tonight was different. The relentless nightmares of Katniss blowing her brains out in front of me plague my mind. I have to scrape the dried remains of her brain off the table where she took her life in her victor house. Her now glazed over and very dried eyes look up at me. "Gale you could have helped me," she whimpers through her dead lips.

"Stop it," I feel my body tense. I know it's a dream but her eyes look so real. She sits up and her head lolls off her neck sending a fresh stream of putrid brain fluid onto the table.

"Help me," she says extending her lifeless arms out to me. I step back as she gets up from her chair and starts to walk at me. "Help me Gale."

"I can't," I cry. "I can't!" She doesn't stop.

"Help me Gale, I'm shot." Her hands rise and grab the back of my head. She leans in to my face and her lips rot off revealing yellow teeth. Her eyes begin to sink back into their sockets. She presses her teeth against my lips and I can feel her stale air rise up into my nose.

"NO! STOP IT!" I scream and push her away. She begins to laugh as her eyes fall out and her jaw unhinges. Her body begins to deteriorate and her arms and legs fall into a pile of body parts. They begin to dissolve and soon Katniss is nothing more than a pile of ashes. Her maniacal laughter echoes through the house and I shield my ears, which offers no relief. Her laughter finds my eardrums. The floor drops beneath me and I am falling. There is nothing around but a black abyss. No wind blows my hair but there is a feeling of weightlessness. My body turns over and I'm facing down. I see jagged rocks fast approaching. "I'm sorry," I whisper as my tears lift off my face and float into the air. I hit.

Gasping for air as I sit up, the beads of sweat fly off me and absorb into the bedding. The blankets are gripped in my hands and I can hear the stitches ripping. My shirt is saturated and I'm sure the sheets beneath me are soaked. I unclench my vice grip on the fabric and bend my legs up to support my arms. My head hangs between them. My breathing is long and deep and I can hear my heart pulsating in my ears. Sleep was supposed to be my escape.

As my breathing steadies, I raise my head. The light from the hallway creeps under the door and illuminates the room in a pleasant dim light. It's quiet and warm. I lean my head back and rest it against the bed post while I extend my legs out to stretch them. The covers slide down with my feet to reveal the body that was next to me during the night. I look over at him. He is turned away from me, facing the wall. His broad back expands and falls with his breaths. Peeta is still sleeping. Good. He needed the rest.

I look down at the sheets I slept on. A damp pool of sweat has formed where my body lies. The usual light gray sheets have turned into a darker shade. I place my hand in the dark color and find it is only slightly damp. It should evaporate nicely. Moving my feet off the bed, I realize they still have shoes on. The simple canvass and cotton lace snuggly wrap my feet. I untie the shoes and take them off. The cool tiled floor makes me inhale a bit as I place one un-socked foot on it. The ground soaks up my heat. I flip the shoe over to see if any dirt or debris was on the bottom. Luckily nothing was on the rubber soles. I check the sheet where my feet where to be sure. Clean. I untie the other shoe and place it next to its brother on the floor. I rub my face and clear my eyes of sleep. My stiff neck cracks as I twist it side to side. I get up.

The brown cargo pants I have been issued are wrapped around and uncomfortably compressing my legs. The white polo shirt I wear is wrinkled and sweaty. I paw around the room and find Peeta's dresser. Surely he won't mind if I borrow some clothes. I'm sure he won't even change when he wakes up. He's about my size anyway. I kneel down and open the bottom drawer. Pairs of bed sheet gray sweat pants meet my eye. They seem comfortable enough and I take a pair. I open the top drawer and see under where and socks. Woops. I shut it quickly. The drawer below it holds plain white t shirts. I take a v neck as I have always preferred the freeness of my neck. I shut the drawers and take my new wardrobe. Peeta's sleeping so I won't have to worry about changing in front of him. Not that I would care if he was awake. Growing up with limited space and a lot of family members around, you become less aware of privacy. I throw off my shirt. The air feels good on my bare skin and I rub the patches of perspiration off. I slide on the new shirt and am pleased to feel it's thin. The pants take a while to take off as they have many buttons and ties that help them stay up and on my body. Sleeping on them doesn't help with undoing the small knots around the buttons either, not exactly good sleeping attire. When I finally undo the last button in the front, they slide down my legs and rest at my ankles. Seeing Peeta's body fully exposed to my almost nakedness gives me a weird thrill. Knowing that he could wake up and see me makes me take them off my ankles even faster. I grab the gray sweat pants and decide that I don't want to wear my sweaty underwear around anymore. I quickly fling them off and feel a nice cooling sensation as the air from the room surrounds my now exposed area. I take my old shirt and dry the sweat off and throw on my new pants without bothering to put on new underwear.

Feeling my body under loose clothing makes the silent even more comfortable. I stand next to Peeta's bed and cross my arms over my chest, listening to nothing, but the sound of my and Peeta's breathing. My moments of peace are quickly swept away as I recall images of Katniss turning to ashes. Peace is over. I grab my old clothes, put them in the laundry chute, and head for the door. The sound of Peeta's heavy sigh makes me turn around just as my hand hovers around the door handle. Peeta rolled over and is now facing me. The dim light of the hallway cast dark shadows around his face, bringing out his features. His jaw is squarer then ever and his brows more prominent. Slightly mesmerized by his newer, rested looking face, I grab the door handle and twist it carefully. A beam of bright light enters the room. The lights from the hallway were brighter than I thought and I squint. As I open the door further, the beam into the room gets wider. I slide my body out into the hallway making sure not open the door too far. I stop the beam just as it's about to reach Peeta's face, and then I shut it with a small _click._

The plush red carpet of President Paylor's mansion muffles my heavy footsteps as I journey down the hall. The morning sun passes through the windows warming me each time a little more as I walk by them. I catch glimpses of the now peaceful, but ruined Capitol. The streets are bare and broken from the traps they placed for us. We advised the citizens to not walk near or by them as they still activate. They were so many around the city and it's hard to find and deactivate all of them. One will occasionally be set off and kill a couple men, or send a swarm of poison darts into the air. The traps with the mutated animals are long gone. The traps haven't been set off so we let the mutated starve and decompose underneath the streets. One less thing to clean up. The hallway comes to an end and there are two doors with brass handles. Grabbing the door handle, they swing open and I walk inside to the private dining area of the mansion. A couple plates of breakfast have been set out and I see Haymitch sitting at the end of the long table reading a notebook, drinking coffee, and munching on a piece of toast, not even bothering the smoked ham and fried eggs. My stomach growls and I realize how empty I am. Haymitch turns and sees me. "You look comfortable," he says eyeing my sweat pants. "Sleep well?"

"Yea," I say. Lying obviously, I don't feel like talking about Katniss rotting. I grab a plate and dish some eggs onto it.

"How do you feel?" he asks. He's looking at me now, his gaunt eyes staring at me. I guess the alcohol weaning is taking its course. It takes me a while to decide how I feel.

"I'm okay," I say. Safe answer, neutral. He doesn't say anything else. He's not much to talk. Having seen so many people die probably doesn't affect him like it used too. It makes you tough, hard, a little less emotional. This is probably the best he can do anyway. I don't think he could comfort anyone very well. Probably just hand you a bottle. I take a seat on the side of the table and start to eat. The food is delicious but feels like putty and paste in my mouth. I shouldn't have taken as much.

"They are starting to bring people back to their houses here," he says trying to create small talk.

"Oh," is all I say. Truth is I could care less about the pampered Capitol citizens. Killing a couple thousand of them was probably the best thing about the war. Silence filled with the sounds of forks clinking and toast chewing follows. I don't feel like talking any ways. The food lost its texture and is now tasting better. It fills my stomach with its cholesterol goodness, and I feel less empty.

"Oh, I have surprise for you, if you think you are up for it," he says not even looking up from his notebook. I stop eating and swallow the remanding food in my mouth. Oh no. I start playing images in my head of Katniss's mother shooting herself or swaying back and forth at the end of a rope.

"What is it?" I ask with some egg in my cheek, not wanting to hear who killed themselves this time. Haymith takes a sip of coffee.

"Cinna's alive."


End file.
